


A Pleasure to Burn

by FrankenSpine



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Censorship, Corruption, Death, Deception, Drug Abuse, Dystopia, F/F, F/M, Fahrenheit 451, Fire, Foreshadowing, Mental Health Issues, Morality, Murder, Robots, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Technology, Tension, War, book burning, deep themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankenSpine/pseuds/FrankenSpine
Summary: As a fireman, Emma Swan takes great pleasure in burning books and upholding the law. Her entire worldview starts to change, however, when she meets a free-spirited young woman named Regina, and she begins to question everything she's ever known.AKA: the Fahrenheit 451-inspired story nobody asked for.





	1. Then Burn the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I will use some of the dialogue from the book, with a few minor tweaks here and there, and keep things pretty much in line with the original story, just without the tragic death that just sort of... happens... and gets glossed over :(
> 
> I *love* Fahrenheit 451 and am currently reading it again, which is why I decided to write a SQ interpretation of it. I considered putting Regina in place of Montag but thought Emma would be a better choice, and Regina seemed like a perfect insert for Clarisse. 
> 
> I do not own Fahrenheit 451 or Once Upon a Time!

_It was a pleasure to burn._

The feeling of the heat tickling her skin left Emma with a rush of desire. How she loved her job. The pay was decent, of course, but seeing the books and all the pages within them crackle and warp was a reward in and of itself.

The smile on Emma’s face grew wider each time she set the books ablaze. It was a glorious destruction. She knew in her heart that she was doing the right thing, saving the people from senseless fairytales and false hope. If there was such a thing as a God, then she was certain she was doing His work, but if not, then the State would have to do.

Her eyes were green like the tainted sea, yet they flickered and gleamed with the orange heat of the flames as they leapt forth from the deadly flamethrower in her robotic hands. It was a tool, useless when left untouched, but the moment she picked it up, it became a wild beast that could not be tamed. And yet she tamed it. With its mighty roar came a raging inferno. It was like the vicious dragons of the old fables. Perhaps that made her the knight in shining armor. She quickly shook her head. What was she thinking? She couldn’t let such nonsense get to her.

She supposed she _was_ a knight, of sorts, defending the innocent from evil. Her armor, on the other hand, was anything but shining. It was a deep black, so much so that her figure could cast a shadow upon darkness itself. It was made from a flameproof material, certainly not metal, but also not as durable. Perhaps it could have stopped a bullet, but she wouldn’t have known. The prohibition on guns was just as strict as the one on books. Comics, magazines, and manuals were tolerable, but the rest was contraband.

Her helmet was dark like her uniform, though the gold plate at its forefront made it stand out more. Engraved in said plate was her Unit’s number. _451._

Upon returning to the Station, Emma hit the showers to wash away the sweat and the stench of kerosene as best as she could. It had bothered her in the beginning, but she never really paid it much attention these days. It was only when her roommate complained that she noticed it, and so she did her best to be more conscious of it.

She hung up her uniform on the cleaning rack while she showered, and when she stepped out, she retrieved it with a satisfied smile. It no longer reeked, and thankfully, neither did she. At least, she didn’t think so. Donning her freshly-cleaned uniform, she made her way out of the quiet Station and went up to the landing to wait for the monorail. When she got there, she was met by her friend and mentor, Captain Jones.

“You’re out of luck, Swan,” he told her, “The rail’s stuck on the track.”

Emma sighed. “Damn.”

“I could give you a ride, if you’d like,” the Captain offered.

“That’s alright. Thank you, Captain.”

“Are you sure?”

Emma nodded. “Yes, sir. I think walking home would do me some good.”

“If you’re sure,” the Captain said, visibly skeptical.

With a curt nod, Emma turned and began walking along the cracked sidewalk. She frowned, as she couldn’t remember it being quite this broken down. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even set foot on it. She walked for a bit, thinking of everything and yet nothing all at once. She knew she was moving. She just couldn’t feel herself doing it. It was as though she was a machine, cold and empty and running on auto-pilot.

As she rounded the corner, she felt a sudden presence to her left. It was unexpected, yet warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the bitter wind that danced across her pale skin. She turned, bewildered, and found a radiant young woman staring back at her with a bright smile. Though the girl’s eyes were dark, they were alight with something Emma couldn’t quite place, or perhaps, something she didn’t _want_ to place.

Emma’s eyes were pale like her skin, and both possessed a coldness like that of a decaying corpse. This young woman, on the other hand, exuded life and warmth. Her smile was contagious, and Emma found it infuriating.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” the blonde snapped.

Although slightly taken aback, the young woman retained her smile. Her curious eyes were drawn to the golden salamander on the blonde’s uniform, and though something akin to fear flickered across her smiling face, she remained hopeful.

“You’re a fireman,” she said, “but you’re a woman. I’ve never met a female fireman.”

“Yes, well, not many women sign up,” the blonde said stiffly, “and I like to say I’m a fire _person.”_

The young woman’s hair was the same deep brown as her eyes, whipping in the wind and dancing across her face. She laughed. It wasn’t a halfhearted chuckle, but a genuine, rich laugh that left Emma feeling just a tad uncomfortable. Most people didn’t laugh in such a way. It seemed out of place, yet not unnatural. Just, well, _different._ Emma wasn’t entirely sure if that was good or not.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I’ve never heard a fireman tell a joke, either,” said the brunette, “Will you tell me another?”

Emma shook her head. “I’m not a comedian. If you want to laugh, go watch something on the parlor wall.”

Now the woman’s smile fell, and she bore a look of frustration. “But I don’t _want_ to look at the parlor walls,” she fussed, “They don’t make me laugh. They don’t amuse me. Quite frankly, I don’t see what’s so great about them. But you? You made me laugh. Just now, you actually made me laugh. Thank you, um—” she paused to look at the badge on the blonde’s arm, “Lieutenant, is it?”

Emma was silent for a moment, turning away awkwardly. “Err— yes,” she said, “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“You smell like kerosene,” the brunette said matter-of-factly.

Emma gave a light scoff. “Yes, I’m well aware,” she said.

“Does it bother you?”

“No. Are you repulsed by it?”

“Not really,” said the brunette, “I’m just curious.”

“Don’t you know curiosity is dangerous, girl?”

“Well, I don’t see why. Aren’t you curious about anything?”

“Kerosene,” Emma said, ignoring the girl’s question, “is like perfume to me.”

“Is it really? Truly?”

Emma shrugged. “I suppose so.”

They were both quiet for a moment. The brunette was the first to break the silence, though her voice was soft, like a gentle breeze, rather than a piercing blade. She didn’t shatter the sound barrier like most people did.

“My name’s Regina,” she said, “Regina Mills.”

The blonde pursed her lips. “Regina,” she said softly, pausing to extend her hand, “Emma Swan.”

Regina’s smile made a swift return, and she shook the blonde’s hand with a puzzling eagerness. “It’s nice to meet you, Emma. May I call you that?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Emma, “Say, what are you doing all the way out here, anyway? Don’t you know it isn’t safe?”

Regina just shrugged. “I just like walking at night. I like the breeze and the moon and the stars.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at her. “It doesn’t make you nervous, being alone?”

The young brunette’s smile somehow grew even wider. “I’m not alone,” she said with a laugh, “I have a fire _person_ by my side.”

Emma just shook her head. “How old are you, girl?”

As they continued walking down the broken path, Regina contemplated the question silently, as if calculating _pi_ in her curious young mind. She looked up at Emma with that same warmth in her beaming eyes.

“Well,” she said at last, “I’m seventeen and I’m crazy. My father says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane. Isn’t this a nice time of night to walk? I love smelling and looking at things, and sometimes I like to stay up all night, just walking, until the sun comes up. I’ve always been fascinated by it. What about you?”

Emma felt uneasy. “I have little time to look at the sun, or much of anything, really,” she said, “I spend all my days searching for books to burn.”

“And your nights?”

“Pardon?”

“How do you spend your nights?”

The blonde was silent for a moment. She stared ahead, not wanting to meet Regina’s gaze as she spoke. “I sleep,” she said simply, “Same as everyone else.”

“And do you dream, Emma?”

“I suppose so,” Emma said after a pause, “I just never remember.”

Now Regina hesitated to speak, which certainly came as a surprise to the blonde. “You know, I’m not afraid of you.”

Emma turned to the young woman with a slight frown. She cocked her head quizzically. “And why would you be?” she asked.

“Lots of people are,” said Regina, “of firemen, I mean.” She seemed conflicted. “But you? You’re just a woman.”

Emma stared into the girl’s eyes, and saw her own pale reflection within them. She looked like a ghostly prisoner, trapped within the dark void. She studied Regina’s face for a moment. The glow of the streetlamp made the brunette’s hair and eyes gleam almost eerily, like a spectre, of sorts. The girl’s skin was lightly tanned. Emma wasn’t entirely sure, but she suspected Regina was of Hispanic origin. Regardless, she couldn’t deny that the young woman was beautiful.

And then Regina Mills said to her, ever so timidly, “Do you mind if I ask? How long you’ve been a fireman— err— _person?”_

Emma waved her hand dismissively. “You can just say ‘fireman.’ It doesn’t matter,” she said, “and I’ve been doing it since I was eighteen. Ten years, now.”

Regina just nodded. “And do you ever _read_ any of the books you burn?”

Emma laughed, just a bit too hard for her liking. “That’s against the law!”

“Right. Of course.”

“It’s decent work,” said Emma, “Monday burn Milay, Wednesday Whitman, Friday Faulkner. _Burn ‘em to ashes, then burn the ashes._ That’s our official slogan.”

They walked on for a bit until Regina asked, “Is it true that firemen once put fires _out_ rather than start them?”

“Nonsense,” said Emma, “It takes water to douse flames. We are not _watermen._ We start fires, therefore we are firemen.”

“I— I suppose that makes sense,” Regina said, though judging by her frown, it was clear she did not believe in her own words. “It’s just that I heard once that houses used to catch fire by accident, and that firemen were there to _stop_ the flames.”

Again, Emma let out a hard laugh.

Regina’s frown deepened. “Why are you laughing? I have not made any jokes. I have not said anything humorous, and yet you laugh all the same. Why is that?”

Rather than answer, Emma just cocked her head and offered a half-smirk. “You’re certainly an odd one, you know that?” she asked, “Don’t you have any manners? Any shred of respect?”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you,” said Regina, “I just like watching people, is all. I study them. I see things most people don’t see.”

Emma tapped the golden plate on her helmet, which displayed her Unit number. “Doesn’t _this_ mean anything to you?” she asked, visibly frustrated.

“Yes,” Regina whispered, increasing her pace, “Have you ever watched the jets fly overhead? Have you ever wondered what it is they’re doing up there? What the men inside them might be planning?”

Now Emma was frowning. “You’re changing the subject!” she accused.

“Sometimes I feel frightened by them,” Regina confessed, “I see them. I know they’re there. I just don’t know _why.”_ She let out a heavy sigh. “And no one ever wants to talk about them. If I bring it up, I’m scorned, if not by the teachers, then by the other students. Oftentimes both. I can’t help but ask questions. They don’t like the questions I ask. The other students ask, ‘how?’ but I ask, _why?_ and the teachers, well, they don’t take too kindly to that.”

Emma shifted a bit. “You think too many things,” she said with obvious unease.

“You know, I rarely look at the shows on the parlor walls,” said the brunette, “and I’ve never liked going to the races or any of the Fun Parks. So I suppose I’ve got a lot of time on my hands. Lots of time for crazy thoughts. Have you seen the two-hundred-foot-long billboards outside the city? They used to just be twenty feet long, but then the cars started _zipping_ by so fast that they had to stretch everything out just so it would last longer.”

Emma’s laughter was abrupt. “I didn’t know that,” she said.

“I’ll bet there’s something else you don’t know,” Regina said with a coy grin.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Bet you didn’t know there’s dew on the grass each morning.”

Whatever trace of a smile was on Emma’s face had vanished. Her brows furrowed, and her eyes darted anywhere and everywhere, save for Regina’s face, as she pondered this. She suddenly couldn’t remember if she had known this or not, and it made her quite irritable.

“And if you look,” Regina said, gazing up at the sky, “there’s a man in the moon.”

Emma hadn’t looked for a long time.

The two of them carried on in silence. Regina’s was thoughtful. Emma’s was uncomfortable, and she shot the brunette continuous, accusatory glances, but Regina didn’t seem to notice. They finally reached Regina’s house, which was right down the street from Emma’s apartment, much to the blonde’s surprise.

“You didn’t tell me we were neighbors.”

Regina just laughed and shrugged. “Neither did you,” she countered.

Emma sighed. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

She looked to the brunette’s house and was stunned to see all the lights on inside. This wasn’t the eerie glow of the electronic parlor walls, but rather, the bright yellow glow of lightbulbs and chandeliers. It was rare to see so many lights on all at once, especially at this hour.

“What’s going on? A party?” she asked.

“It’s probably just my parents sitting around, talking,” said Regina, “They do that most nights.” She turned to Emma with a bright smile that seemed to illuminate the darkness like the lights within her house. “Thank you for walking with me, Emma. It was very sweet of you.”

Emma was speechless for a moment. “But— what do you _talk_ about?” she asked, bewildered.

Regina looked back at her with a grin and laughed. “Goodnight!” She strode up to the front door, but halfway there, she paused and turned back to look at the Lieutenant with a look of awe. “Are you happy, Emma?” she asked out of the blue.

Emma’s eyes just about burst from her skull. “Am I _what?!”_ she cried.

But then Regina was gone, and the front door shut ever so gently.


	2. The Black Cobra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Warning: attempted suicide* (much like what happens in the book, but with more semi-graphic detail)

A scowl was etched into Emma’s brow as she entered her apartment. _“Happy?”_ she muttered, “Of _course_ I’m happy. Who does she think she is, asking a question like that? Foolish girl.”

The parlor walls were on, displaying some unpalatable soap-opera. She couldn’t remember the name of this drivel, but then again, she couldn’t have cared any less. Her eyes were fixated on the still body of her roommate, lying stiffly on the couch.

Ruby never slept so soundly, nor did she ever close her eyes at such an hour. She was wide-awake most nights, always watching her soaps. Well, not so much _watching them,_ but rather, _entranced by them._

In the flicker of the light from the screens, Emma caught a glimpse of something on the floor. Her frown deepened, only for a moment, but then her eyes grew wide with horror.

It was a bottle of sleeping bills.

“Ruby!” she cried.

Ruby’s eyes were half-open and glazed over. They almost looked like glass. Her lips were parted, just a little, but she was barely breathing, if at all.

“Damn it, Ruby!”

Emma scrambled for the phone and brought it to her ear with a trembling, gloved hand. _“Emergency Hospital,”_ she whispered fearfully.

* * *

They had this machine. Well, _two,_ actually. The first slid down into your stomach like a black cobra, sucking up all the toxins accumulated throughout the years. It was a silent thing, swift and unsettling in its performance. Operating the apparatus was an older woman with pursed lips, painted red like blood, and a white nurse’s uniform.

Seeing the _cobra_ in action left Emma feeling nauseous, among other things. It was unnatural. Something not of this earth. She turned away, looking instead at the second contraption.

This device was being controlled by a younger man, roughly Emma’s age, with bleached hair and a cigarette in his mouth. He seemed to be grinning, and that, in addition to the wild look in his sunken eyes, made him look all the more insane. Like the woman, he was wearing all-white. His machine drained all the blood from Ruby’s veins while simultaneously pumping in more.

Both operators seemed indifferent to what they were doing. Like doctors, they wore white, yet neither seemed professional. The woman standing over Ruby stared down at her motionless body with an unreadable expression, and somehow it was more spine-chilling than the man’s. She seemed to sense Emma’s unease.

“You’ve got to clean them out both ways,” said the woman, “No use getting the stomach if you don’t clean the blood. Leave that stuff in the blood and the blood hits the brain like a mallet— _bang—_ a couple-thousand times and the brain just gives up, just quits.”

 _“Stop it!”_ cried Emma.

The woman just shrugged, but said nothing more.

Emma stared out the window into the darkness, unable to look at the grotesque display a moment more. “Are you nearly finished?” she asked stiffly.

Just like that, the machines were shut off, and the _cobra_ slithered back out of Ruby’s esophagus. Emma didn’t see it. She didn’t want to. Didn’t need to. Instead, she heard it. It was a terrible, _awful_ sound. That was the best way she could describe it. It was, ironically enough, _stomach-turning._ How cruel.

“Yeah,” said the man, taking a long drag from his cigarette, “We’re done.”

Emma blinked, dumbfounded. “That’s it?”

The man nodded. _“That’s it,”_ he told her. He held out his hand expectantly. _“And_ that’s fifty bucks.”

The blonde put the money in his hand, making sure not to touch it as she did. “Will she be alright?”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” said the man, “Like Ratched said, ‘out with the old, in with the new.’”

“Neither of you are from Emergency,” Emma noted.

The man waved his hand dismissively. _“Hell,”_ he said, “We do this ten times a night! Sometimes eleven! Ya don’t need a doctor in these types of situations. Just someone who can run a machine well enough. It’s not that complicated.”

If Emma didn’t know any better, she might have thought this man was bragging. He took another puff of his cigarette.

“Anyway, we’ve gotta go. Just got a call from down the street. Somebody’s hopped up on painkillers. Call us if you need us! Try to keep her quiet. We’ve got her sedated. I imagine she’ll be hungry once she wakes up. Have a nice night.”

Emma just nodded, watching in uneasy silence as the pair gathered up their things and headed for the front door with that same cold indifference. They left with their unsettling machines and sped off towards the house at the end of the street. Emma watched them until they were out of sight, then she went to check on Ruby.

The lanky brunette’s eyes were now closed, and she was breathing, much to Emma’s relief. The two of them had been relatively-close friends in school, so it seemed right that they became roommates later on, but Ruby had changed drastically since then.

She cared about nothing except staring at the vibrant parlor walls and zoning out on handfuls of pills. This time she had taken _far_ too many. If Emma hadn’t found her in time, she would not be here. She would not be breathing. At least she was finally sleeping, even if it was because of more drugs in her system.

Emma stared down at her friend for some time (she wasn’t sure how long, exactly) as her mind raced with that night’s events. Not just the near-death of Ruby Lucas, of course, but also the perplexing conversation she’d had with Regina Mills.

Emma’s heart sank as it occurred to her that she was, in fact, not happy. _She was not happy._ She said the words herself, muttered them under her breath as if it was some secret that needed to be kept, even in the presence of her unconscious companion.

This was the true state of affairs, she realized. She wore her happiness like a mask and the girl had run off across the lawn with the mask and there was no way of going to knock on her door and ask for it back.

 _“Ruby,”_ she said after a while, though she didn’t say anything else, because she couldn’t come up with the words.

Still, her mind was riddled with thoughts, no doubt a side-effect of spending too much time with the crazy girl down the street. Was insanity contagious? Or maybe it wasn’t insanity. Not really. Was it happiness that was contagious? She supposed not. She didn’t _feel_ happy. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t sure she even knew how. When was the last time she had smiled? She couldn’t remember.

Emma tucked the warm quilts about Ruby gently before draping a cool, damp cloth across the brunette’s forehead. She then went to the window and opened it up, letting in the cool night air. The chirping of crickets and the low buzzing of jets filled the sky. She poked her head out the window and glanced around. First she looked right. At the end of the street was the unmarked van that the pair in white had driven in. She looked left. At the opposite end was the quaint home of Regina Mills, still lit up like fireflies in the night.

Suddenly she found herself longing to go there and lurk in the shadows like a phantom, unseen and unheard, just watching and listening to whatever it was Regina and her family spoke about. Emma wanted to know more, not just about that strange girl and her strange ways, but about life and happiness.

How did one learn to be happy? Could it even be learned? Truly? Or was it something genetic? A defect, perhaps? An infection? Maybe Emma was the one who was infected. Had Regina infected her with this yearning to know more?

The man with the bleached hair had said Ruby would wake up hungry, yet Emma realized that she, too, was overcome with an immense hunger, not for food, but for knowledge.

 _‘And do you ever_ read _any of the books you burn?’_

That was what Regina had asked her. Emma hadn’t exactly answered, at least not in the way Regina must have expected, and she knew why. She hadn’t said of _course not!_ or even _hell no!_ Instead, she’d deflected the question with a barking laugh and somewhat of a reprimand.

Emma crept through the living room (she wasn’t so sure she could call it that anymore), still lit up by the bright parlor walls, and into her bedroom, where she quietly closed and locked the door. She went to her closet and retrieved a small screwdriver, safely hidden behind some old shoeboxes, and kicked her boots off before stepping up onto the bed.

She silently unscrewed the panel above her bed. Tucked away in the little vent was a small stack of books. There weren’t many, but they were all different. They ranged from _Dracula_ to _Hamlet_ to _The Scarlet Letter._ She swallowed, darting her eyes about the room as though someone might be watching her, and wiped the sweat from her brow.

Her collection had begun a little more than a year ago, when she’d met the old man in the park one bitter afternoon. The conversation they’d had that day reminded her greatly of the one she had with Regina— or was it the other way around? Emma shook her head. She supposed it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she, a fireman, was standing here with illegal contraband in her vent.

Feeling conflicted, she quickly screwed the panel back onto its metal frame and stepped down, tossing the screwdriver back in its place inside the closet. She returned to Ruby and found the brunette breathing steadily. She watched Ruby for a moment before looking out the window once again.

“I don’t know _anything_ anymore,” she whispered.

* * *

When Emma emerged from her room the next morning, she found the couch vacant and looked around in alarm.

“Ruby?” she called.

 _“Yes?”_ came a familiar voice from the kitchen.

Emma’s heart pounded like thunder in her chest as she followed the sound of her friend’s voice. Upon entering the kitchen, she found Ruby making some toast while sipping black coffee. She swallowed, clearing her throat.

This drew the attention of Ruby, who offered her a halfhearted, _“Morning, Emma.”_

Emma blinked quickly. “Um, good morning,” she said, stunned, “You alright?”

The toast popped up, and Ruby piled the pieces onto her plate with a soft hum, swiftly averting her gaze from Emma’s concerned face.

“Just feeling hungry,” she murmured.

“Do— Do you remember anything about last night?”

Ruby shook her head. “I didn’t sleep well. I feel exhausted,” she said, “and I’m so hungry. Jesus, I don’t know why I would be _this_ hungry.”

Again, Emma swallowed. “Ruby, last night—”

“What about it?” Ruby asked as she crunched her toast. She put another two pieces into the little toaster for Emma.

“You mean you don’t remember?”

“Did we throw a party or something? I feel like I had too much to drink. Who all was here?”

Emma shifted uncomfortably. “Um, just a few people,” she said.

“Thought so. My stomach is killing me— my throat’s a little sore, too— but all I wanna do is eat,” said Ruby, “I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

Before Emma could respond, the toast popped up, startling her. Ruby raised an eyebrow at her, but bore a genuine look of concern.

“You don’t look so hot yourself, _fireman.”_

* * *

It was later that afternoon that Emma finally mustered up the courage to say something to Ruby, who was— as usual— fixated on the parlor walls. “Ruby?” she asked softly.

The brunette’s eyes didn’t leave the screens. “Huh?” she mumbled.

“I, um, wanted to talk to you,” Emma told her, “about last night. You took all your sleeping pills.”

Ruby still didn’t meet Emma’s gaze, but her response was instantaneous. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that.”

“The bottle was empty.”

“What would I wanna go and do a thing like that for, hm?”

Emma tensed. “Well, maybe you took two pills and forgot and took two more, and forgot again and took two more, and were so dopey you kept taking them until you had thirty or forty of them in you.”

The look that fell onto Ruby’s tired face made it crystal-clear that she wanted Emma to leave. “I didn’t do that,” she said quickly, irritably, “You must have been dreaming, or you must be crazy, thinking I would ever do something so— so _idiotic.”_

Emma bit her lip. Her eyes fell upon the small stack of papers in Ruby’s trembling hands. She hadn’t noticed it before.

“What, uh, what’s with the papers?”

“It’s a script,” Ruby said, seeming much calmer now, “There’s a play that comes on in ten minutes. I just got my part in the mail yesterday.”

She rambled on aimlessly about her lines in the script, when she would say them, and probably something else, though Emma had stopped listening altogether and quietly left the room. Ruby didn’t seem to notice.

* * *

As the rain began to subside, Emma stepped outside onto the sidewalk, and who should she run into but Regina Mills. The girl walked with her head held high and a wide smile on her face. It only grew bigger when she spotted Emma.

“Hello!” Regina said cheerfully.

A hint of a smile tugged at Emma’s pale lips. It was, dare she say it, unnatural. It didn’t sit right on her face, and so she cleared her throat and the awkward expression fell away.

“Hello,” she said, much less enthusiastically than the brunette, “What are you up to this time?”

Regina let out that rich laugh, and suddenly, Emma felt like her heart was made of wax.

“I’m still crazy, if that’s what you mean,” Regina said with a grin, “I’ve been walking in the rain.”

Emma stared at her incredulously. “Why?”

“Because it feels nice,” Regina said matter-of-factly, “I like the way it rolls off my skin. It even tastes good, you know.” She opened her mouth and let a couple of raindrops land upon her tongue, and in a heartbeat, her smile was back and wider than ever. “Do you ever walk in the rain, Emma?”

“No. I don’t know if I would like that.”

“You should try it sometime,” said Regina, “and taste it, too.”

Emma just shook her head, genuinely amused by the girl’s antics. “Do you go around trying everything once?”

“Sometimes twice,” Regina said simply.

She opened up her hand, staring curiously at the dandelion that rested in her palm. Her hands were smooth, Emma realized, not calloused or blistered like a fireman’s. She was as pure as her spirit, it seemed.

“My father told me this was the last dandelion for the whole year,” she said, “He picked it for me this morning. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Regina stared into Emma’s eyes with a hopeful look. “You know, he also said if it rubs off on your chin, then you’re in love.” She did so excitedly. “Did it work?”

“It did,” Emma told her softly.

“Wonderful! Now you try!”

Regina held out the dandelion for Emma to take, and so she did, albeit reluctantly. Emma waited a moment before rubbing it lightly on her chin. Seeing the look of pure joy flicker like a candle in Regina’s eyes made her heart skip a beat.

“Well?” she asked.

“You love someone,” said Regina, “That’s fantastic! Who do you love?”

For reasons she couldn’t understand, Emma felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I don’t know yet,” she said.

Regina’s face fell a bit, though she retained her smile. “Oh. Well, I hope you find out soon enough!”

Emma sighed. “You mustn’t be so hopeful all the time. It will only hurt you in the end.”

Regina just shook her head. “My father always says that even if you have nothing— no home, no money or possessions— you can still be rich in spirit. I certainly feel that way.”

“Your father is a kind man,” said Emma, “but he is mistaken.”

The brunette studied her for a moment. “Have I angered you?”

“Angered? No,” she said, “I’m just a bit frustrated, and I'm saddened, but not because of you.”

“Can I ask why?”

Again, Emma sighed, not wanting to trouble this girl with her own problems. “It’s just that I’ve never met anyone so— so— _spirited_ before.”

“Is that a good thing? I hope so.”

“There you go again, _hoping._ Is that all you ever do?”

“Not always,” said Regina, “Sometimes I walk in the rain. Sometimes I talk to my fireman friend. Other times I go and speak with my psychiatrist. I’m actually headed there now. They _make_ me go, you know.”

Emma frowned a bit. “Who does? Your parents?”

Regina shook her head. “No. The State. I just make up things to tell the psychiatrist. I have no idea what he thinks of me. Probably that I’m delusional. Most people seem to believe that, though he once told me I was a ‘regular onion,’ whatever _that_ means. I think maybe it’s because I always keep him busy peeling away all the layers.”

“I’m thinking you _do_ need the psychiatrist,” Emma told her.

“You don’t mean that,” Regina said softly.

Emma sighed. “No,” she said, “No, I don’t mean it.”

“Dr. Hopper— the psychiatrist— asked me the last time why I like going hiking and watching all the birds and butterflies. I told him I just like to sit there and think about stuff, but I didn’t tell him what, exactly, and I don’t know if I ever will. When I tell him what’s on my mind, he looks like he’s going to wet himself. It’s like he’s afraid. I just can’t understand _why,_ or what it is that terrifies him so. You know, I also told him about tasting the rain. Have you ever tried it, Emma? I think it almost tastes like wine.”

“No, but I—”

“Have you forgiven me?” asked Regina, “For irritating you, I mean?”

Emma gave a small nod. “I have,” she said, “but I haven’t figured out why that is. You’re strange, you’re irritating, and yet you’re impossible to stay mad at. How old did you say you were? Seventeen?”

“That’s right.”

“Yes, that _is_ quite strange,” said Emma, “My friend Ruby and I are both twenty-eight, and yet you seem far older than both of us combined. I just can’t understand you, Regina Mills.”

“You know, you’re strange, too,” said Regina, “Sometimes I forget you’re even a fireman. Can I irritate you again?”

Emma sighed. “Go ahead.”

“How’d you become a fireman? What happened to you that made you want to take up such a dangerous task? You’re nothing like the others. Nothing at all. It’s refreshing, but also confusing. I’ve spoken to firemen before. Not many, but a handful,” said Regina, “When I talk, you look at me. Last night, when I mentioned the moon, you actually _looked_ at it. Other firemen wouldn’t have done that. They would just walk away from me as though I had the plague, or worse, threaten me. No one has time for anyone else. Not just the firemen, but everybody. You know, you’re one of the only ones who put up with me. That’s why I think it’s odd that you chose to be a fireman. It doesn’t suit you. It’s like you’ve tried jamming a piece into a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit.”

Emma was dumbfounded. She just stood there with her jaw clenched and her fists tight within her gloves. She felt like the two halves of her body and mind were at war with each other, grinding together relentlessly. There was sweat on her brow, yet it was like ice. She swallowed as she locked eyes with Regina, regarding the girl with an intense gaze, though not quite a glare. She cleared her throat before she spoke.

“You should get to your appointment,” she said, “You wouldn’t want to be late.”

Regina hesitated a moment, looking just a tad hurt, but she nodded and took off down the broken sidewalk. Emma watched her as she went, and when she was out of sight— and for a short while after— the blonde stood there, not moving.

After some time, Emma turned and headed back towards the apartment. As she did, she felt the rain tickling her cheeks, and so she tilted her head back and opened her mouth.


	3. The Mechanical Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Warning: suicide at the beginning*

Walking home each night became routine, and thus, so did Emma’s _coincidental_ encounters with Regina. Emma came to enjoy their conversations, even if they were mostly one-sided. Sometimes she added a word or two to the dialogue, but the rest was all Regina.

It was difficult for the brunette to stay on-topic. In one instance, she’d started by expressing her love of nature and ended up rambling about how houses had front porches, once upon a time.

Just as Emma was beginning to expect running into Regina, the girl simply stopped showing up. This confused her, but she assumed the brunette was just sick. Then it happened again. And again. _And again._ It continued like that for a week, and Emma knew something was wrong. Still, she kept walking home, dreading and hoping all at once. Sweat rolled down her forehead. Her jaw ached from constant clenching. She felt nauseous.

Had something happened? Had Regina gotten into some sort of trouble? Had Emma said something wrong? Something to upset the girl? Emma wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but it was certainly unsettling. Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Emma was sent to a house one morning to dispose of contraband. She couldn’t bring herself to so much as _think_ of the true word, for it filled her with immense guilt and confusion.

The house belonged to a little old woman who lived in the little old house all by herself. It was sad, really. Emma didn’t know the woman well, but had greeted her in passing while off-duty. Her name slipped Emma’s mind.

When the firemen stepped into her home, the old woman was standing there with a massive pile of books at her feet. She had unshed tears in her bespectacled eyes and she was noticeably trembling. The whole place reeked with an odor Emma found familiar, and yet, couldn’t quite place.

“Step outside, ma’am,” Emma told her, “so we can do what must be done.”

The old woman stood her ground. _“Never,”_ she said, barely holding back her anger.

Suddenly there was a match in her hand. She struck it against the little box, and in that moment, just as the little old woman and her little old house went up in flames, Emma realized that it was kerosene she was smelling.

Why hadn’t she recognized it? Emma hadn’t the slightest idea. Perhaps her mind had just been too muddled to really think about it. It was even worse now that she had laid witness to the old woman and the books burning to ash. There had been no screams. Not even a whimper.

Emma found herself hoping that the woman’s heart had stopped before the fire ever reached her, but then it occurred to the blonde that she was starting to think the way Regina thought. It was a way she’d never thought before. No. It was the first time she’d actually thought about what she was doing.

And it kept her up that night.

She couldn’t sleep. The visions of the old woman burning before her very eyes haunted her already-troubled mind. Fear had her in its clutches. Fear of what might have become of Regina. Fear of being caught. Fear of the _Mechanical Hound_ roaming the streets outside.

She could heard it lurking in the shadows, avoiding the street lamps and ducking below the windows to keep from being seen. The only thing that gave it away was the clicking and whirring of its twisted limbs— four of them on each side of its mangled, metallic frame— and the electronic hum that emanated from its jagged maw, in which a long, sharp needle resided.

There was only ever one Hound in the streets at a time. It was all the firemen needed. It was always Officer Humbert who kept the Hound in check. It was as if he was the silver beast’s master. He was the hunter, and the Hound helped him in his search for illegal contraband. That was why some called him _the Huntsman._ He rarely spoke, and he rarely needed to. His gaze was as lifeless and as piercing as the Mechanical Hound’s. Sometimes Emma wondered which of them was the machine, and which of them was _truly_ alive.

She feared the Huntsman and the Hound might be onto her. While at the old woman’s house, just after the place began to burn, she spotted a book on the kitchen table and when she saw that no one was looking, Emma Swan discreetly tucked it into her dark jacket and left the house with the others, watching it burn down in silence as she rode away on her Unit’s rig.

Now, as she lied here in her bed, wide-awake with the contraband tucked away in her nightstand beneath some old birthday cards from her parents, she could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling fan as it turned slowly. It gradually became hypnotic, and after what seemed like an eternity, she closed her eyes and she fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

The next morning, when Emma awoke, she was suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea and rushed into the bathroom to expel the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Her eyes watered as she did, and the rancid taste in her parched mouth made her feel even worse than before, though she had nothing left in her stomach. She couldn’t help but think back to the night she watched Ruby get her stomach pumped. She continued to dry-heave, but as she expected, nothing else came up.

By some miracle, Ruby overheard this and came in from the living room with a concerned frown. “Emma? Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Just feeling a little under the weather,” Emma said hoarsely.

“Jesus, Emma, you need to lie down.”

“No, I can’t, I— I need to go to work.”

Ruby shook her head. “No. I won’t let you.”

Emma scoffed. “Who are you, my mother?”

“I’m your friend, Emma. Get back in bed. I’ll call Jones.”

“I can call him myself.”

“No. Just let me help you, alright?” There was a pleading look in Ruby’s eyes.

“Fine,” Emma relented as she crawled back under the covers.

Ruby nodded and left the room to call the Captain. He was quick to answer. _“Hello? Swan?”_

“Um, hello, Captain. This is Ruby Lucas, Emma’s roommate. She’s feeling sick this morning and won’t be able to come into work today.”

_“Oh. Well, thank you for telling me, Miss Lucas. I’d like to stop by during my lunch break, if you don’t mind.”_

“Not at all,” said Ruby, “I’m sure Emma would be happy to see you. She talks about you a lot, you know.”

This seemed to intrigue the Captain. _“Oh she does, does she? Well, I’ll see you two later, Miss Lucas.”_

“You too. Oh, and Captain?”

_“Yes?”_

“Just call me Ruby.”

There was a pause on Jones’ end. _“Of course,”_ he said, _“Ruby.”_

The call came to a close, and Ruby put the phone back on its receiver. As she went to check on Emma, she found the blonde fast asleep, and so she gently closed the door and started watching the programs on the parlor walls as usual. Emma completely slipped her mind for the next few minutes until she heard a knock at the door, startling her. She went to open it and was surprised to find Jones standing there.

“Captain? What are you doing here so early?”

The Captain laughed, more so out of confusion than humor, and his brows furrowed a bit. “Early? Ruby, it’s two-o’clock.”

“What? No, that can’t be right. I’ve only been watching my soaps for—” Ruby glanced at the digital clock on one of the parlor walls, and her heart sank— _“eight hours.”_ She cleared her throat as heat rose to her cheeks, and she stepped aside. “Please, come in,” she said quietly, “Emma’s in her room. Probably still sleeping. I haven’t noticed her come out of there yet.”

Jones just looked at her for a moment. “I’m sure you haven’t,” he said as he moved past her.

Ruby frowned a bit, but said nothing. She just took her place on the couch and resumed watching her soaps while Jones knocked on Emma’s door.

 _“Hello?”_ Emma mumbled.

“Swan? It’s Captain Jones. I’ve come to check up on you.”

 _“Oh. Alright.”_ After a few moments, the door opened, and Emma stepped out into the living room. “Hello, Captain. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to work. I’m not feeling well today.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Swan. I understand,” said the Captain. The expression masking his pale face was the closest thing to _sympathetic_ a man like him could afford.

“Do you mind if we speak outside, Captain?” asked Emma, “I think a bit of fresh air would do me some good.”

Jones gave a curt nod. “Of course.”

He followed Emma outside, leaving Ruby alone in the apartment. Once they were out the door, Emma closed it quietly and took a slow, deep breath, reveling in the sensation of the cool air filling her lungs and dancing across her skin the way the electronic images danced across the parlor walls. Emma supposed the walls didn’t ‘dance’ so much as _creep,_ but it didn’t really matter.

“Thank you for stopping by, Captain. I’m sorry if Ruby did or said anything off-putting. She’s been acting, um, a bit strange lately. Well, I guess she’s always been a little strange, but she hasn’t been herself, you know? She says she’s my friend, but she won’t even look me in the eye anymore.”

Jones looked like he wanted to say something, but then Emma shook her head and beat him to it.

“Forget it. I’m sure you don’t care about any of that. It’s not important.”

The Captain seemed mildly intrigued, but didn’t press further. Instead, he said, “I hope you start feeling better, Swan. You’re one of our best, you know?”

Emma forced herself to smile. It crept onto her lips like the digital figures crept upon the flickering walls.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said.

Her words were almost mechanical, and this revelation terrified her. Was she like the Hound now? Robotic? Stiff? Unfeeling? Or was she more like the Huntsman? Was she empty inside? Lifeless? Had it truly been Ruby who had taken one too many sleeping pills? Or was it her? Had she succumbed to the poison in her stomach? If there was such a thing as Hell, Emma was sure this was it. There was no fire. No brimstone. It was the pain in her mind that seemed far more harrowing than torches or pitchforks.

Meanwhile, inside the apartment, Ruby was beginning to feel _antsy._ She supposed that was the right word for it, but in truth, she didn’t care. She got up from the couch, though she didn’t remember doing so, and trudged mindlessly into her room to look for her pills. She frowned when she couldn’t find them. Where had they gone? She searched her bathroom, but again, she didn’t find them. So she decided to see if Emma had, by chance, taken them.

She snuck into her friend’s bedroom and went straight for the nightstand, shuffling through the drawer. She pushed all the bland birthday cards aside and froze. Her frown deepened, but then her eyes grew wide and her blood ran cold, and she brought a hand up over her mouth to suppress a gasp. There, in the drawer, was a book.

Jones left, and as Emma made her way back inside, she was surprised to find the couch vacant. “Ruby?” she called, suddenly growing concerned when she saw that her bedroom door was open. “Ruby, why are you in my—”

Emma stopped dead in her tracks when Ruby appeared in the doorway, clutching the book she’d swiped from the old woman’s house, and glaring daggers at her.

“What the hell is _this,_ Emma?”

Emma swallowed. “I found it out in the alley,” she lied, “I was going to go and burn it today, but then I got sick.”

“Why didn’t you just give it to Captain Jones?”

“It slipped my mind.”

“I— I don’t think I believe you,” Ruby accused, “You’re a fireman, Emma. How could you just ‘forget’ something like that?”

“You’re not well, Ruby.”

Ruby shook her head. “No. No, don’t you do that to me,” she said irritably, “I’m not an idiot, Emma!”

Emma frowned and folded her arms. “I didn’t say you were.”

“I’m getting rid of this thing,” Ruby told her.

 _“No,”_ Emma said quickly, “I’ll get rid of it. I’ve still got twenty-four hours.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” said Emma, “That’s right.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed, and she reluctantly tossed the book to Emma. “You’d better,” she warned, “or else I’ll report you to the firemen.”


End file.
